


Flying Lessons

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2289119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel spends an afternoon repeatedly dropping Dean out of the sky. Dean is not entirely happy about this. Set sometime post-S9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Lessons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerlyobscure (softestpunk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/gifts).



> _Supernatural_ characters do not belong to me and I am making no financial profit from this work of fan fiction.
> 
> For Q, _quid pro quo_.
> 
> * * *

Castiel lets Dean go.

Dean falls. His fingers and toes scramble for purchase and grip nothing but empty air. He is turning and turning, the ground below him growing closer at an alarming rate. He tries to yell something, judging by the way his lips move, but the wind whips his words away.

Finally he spreads his arms, embracing the air the way Castiel has been telling him to do all along, but it is too late.

For the thirteenth time this afternoon Castiel arrows into a dive, flares his wings, and glides underneath Dean to catch him mere feet from the unforgiving earth.

Dean is talking, but it takes a moment for Castiel’s hearing to catch up; he has to put on quite a turn of speed to catch Dean each time, and it plays merry he– havoc with his ears.

“–sshole angel, when will you admit that this isn’t going to work?”

“When will _you_ admit that it _is_?’ Castiel retorts, and hoists Dean into an undignified fireman’s lift to carry him back up.

“Cas, for G–” Dean falls silent. Castiel isn’t sure yet whether Dean _can’t_ name deities or _won’t_. Given his current state of stubbornness, it could be either.

There are no thermals here over this secluded field; Castiel has to work for every inch of height, even with his powerful wingspan. He doesn’t usually have to fly for two, and having six foot of Winchester slung over his shoulders doesn’t help. But they’ve rejected any other carry position as being too impractical – or too distractingly intimate – and so this will have to do.

“Fourteenth time’s the charm,” Castiel says with a cheerfulness that Dean, glaring dark-eyed at him, seems intent upon resisting. “Remember, Luci–”

“If you tell me _one more time_ that the Morningstar was just a fallen angel and so this should be easy, I’ll–”

Whatever threat Dean was going to make is snatched from his mouth as Castiel drops him.

And this time? It _does_ work. Whether it’s because of surprise or because Dean’s guard is down or something else entirely, Castiel sees him pull up well above the verdant meadow, the darkness spreading from his back eclipsing the green.

They are not feathered, Dean’s wings; nor do they seem as ethereal as his own. They are black, and a little battered around the edges, as if they’ve already seen hard use. They are lined with a tracery of veins so thin that, Castiel thinks, even the finest of needles could not get a purchase upon them. What appear to be bones hold them spread wide but, as Dean turns, banking clumsily, they’re far more flexible than bones. They could be cartilage, perhaps.

They could be cotton, for all Castiel cares. Dean, _his_ Dean, his demon, is flying.

Dean flaps determinedly and eventually gains the same height as Castiel, who hovers patiently.

“I guess you were right after all, Cas – this _does_ work,” he says, and Castiel has time to see that Dean’s wings are _leather_ , of _course_ , bat-like, not bird-like, before Dean’s mouth finds his. He feels weightless, his wings shifting and reacting feather by feather to keep him aloft, while he focuses on the minute points of contact between them: their lips, their tongues, Dean’s hand on his cheek.

“This definitely works,” he agrees breathlessly when they separate, Dean dropping away a little; he will have to teach Dean to catch every tiny draft of air to keep him up. But Dean is reaching for him again, and they can save that lesson for another day.

The next time that Dean falls, Castiel falls with him.


End file.
